Disclaimer: I do not own Zombieland and am not using this work of fanfiction for monetary gain.
It takes them a couple of days to really calm down after Pacific Playland. They're all a little jumpy at first - Tallahassee maybe because of the Twinkie - but when they pass Las Vegas without incident, everyone relaxes. 265 miles is a long way to go without seeing a zombie, after all, and they welcome the break.
"Though it's odd," Columbus thinks, "to have not seen a single zombie freak in so long."
The roads aren't empty, per say. Cars litter I-15 and bloody, broken glass coats the pavement at a regular basis. But no zombies. No bodies at all actually, which strikes Columbus as eerie. "A ghost town" he remembers someone saying, and then puts it out of his mind with a quick shake of his head.
Things pick up a little around Illinois. Tallahassee manages to kill one of the mother fuckers with a stapler, which is impressive, to say the least. Wichita and Columbus make out in the corner of whatever building the gang happens to scavenge through, but the other two never comment. They don't really know where they're going, but Northeast is a pleasantly vague destination that suits all of them just fine.
Eventually, the black GMC passes a "Welcome to Ohio" sign that's bent at the top right corner. Columbus sucks in a breath. "This is it" he thinks, unconsciously sinking a little in the front seat. Afterall he's been through, fighting clowns and saving Wichita and seeing countless smashed faces, the thought of finally seeing the truth about the fate of his hometown scares him shitless.
"What's that quote?" he wonders absently, "A prophet is honored everywhere except in his hometown?" That sounds about right. He taps his foot impatiently.
Everyone else in the car remains silent and on edge, hoping for the best but knowing the inevitable. Columbus follows Rule #26 (stay positive) and keeps one desperate thought in the back of his mind that the city could be unmarred by the plague. It shines like a light amidst a pessimistic storm.
His parents are zombies.
Everyone he used to know is dead.
He will never again be hugged by his mother.
And he wonders which is better: to have high hopes and enjoy the comfort of delusion while he can, or to expect disaster and honorably accept the worst case scenario later.
Just outside of the city limits, he still hasn't made up his mind.
Just inside of the city limits, he knew he should have picked the first option and at least basked in positive emotion a little before all hope was lost.
Because Columbus, Ohio is far from unaffected. It's completely in flames.
"Jesus, Wichita was right," he thinks as he watches the smoke cloud climb from the cluster of downed buildings off the highway. And all of a sudden he doesn't think he can go any further. He can't bring it upon himself to see his house. He can't find the strength to look for his parents. He holds no more delusions about them being ok in this orange, blazing holocaust. No one could survive the raging fire. And if they did, the only thing waiting for them in the fresh air would be ravenous cannibals.
"Stop the car," he says, panicking, "Stop the FUCKING car!" as he frantically unbuckles his seat belt. He barely gives Tallahassee time to come to a complete stop before he trips out the door and runs at a dead sprint to the highway barrier. He yells as loud as he can.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" he lets out all of the panic, all of the tension, and all of the stress he'd been feeling for the past few horrible months. He yells for his old family and for his new family and for himself, who will never again carry the hope of maybe having a place to go back to. It's gone, and he screams until his voice gives out, his hands clutching the concrete under them and his body hunched over the barrier.
Afterward he can feel tears on his face and a hand on his shoulder. He lets Wichita lead him back to the car, where he climbs in the backseat and digs his face into the crook of her neck.
Tallahassee does a K-turn and drives in the opposite direction. No one cares to mention that he's driving the wrong way on a divided highway.
They find a nice abandoned suburban two-story for the night and settle down in the living room, not bothering to go to the numerous separate rooms to sleep alone. Not that it matters. Columbus can't sleep regardless of the arrangements. He thinks only of the towering inferno that was once his home.
When he turns over he can see that Wichita is not in her sleeping bag, so he stands up and tours the house looking for her.
He finally finds her in the master bedroom, gazing into the mirror of an en suite bathroom. He takes the 4 large steps necessary to bring himself right behind her and she turns to face him, opening her mouth to speak.
"I'm sorr-" she manages to get out before he closes her mouth with his. He deepens the kiss immediately, aided by her slightly open mouth, and she kisses him back after only a small moment of hesitation.
She overwhelms him; he can feel every line of her body pressed against his as he cups her cheek with one hand and grabs low on her hip with the other. He's backed her against the sink, and though he likes the position, he unconsciously inches backwards toward the bed. They don't speak as he takes off her jacket and lies her down on the mattress. They shed their clothes quickly; their haste paused only when Wichita lifts her hips for easier jeans removal and when Columbus slips on a condom (one of the many things he took from Bill Murray's mansion).
And then he's inside her, and it feels...well it feels even better than he'd ever thought it would. It is, after all, his first time, and the only reason he doesn't cum right away is because he still can't get that image out of his head. The fire, the bodies, the people he once knew foaming at the mouth. Moving within her helps. So does hearing her gasps in his ear and feeling her nails dig into his back. But soon he can't take it anymore even with the mental distraction - the wetness and heat and sight of Wichita under him too much - and he comes apart with his head buried in her neck and his hand on her ribcage, just under her breast.
The climb down from his physical bliss is awkward as he pulls out and flops next to her, gingerly pulling off the condom and throwing it in a wet heap somewhere on the other side of the room. He wipes his hands on someone else's blanket and concentrates on not looking at Wichita.
"Hey," he hears, and feels her hand on his shoulder again. He looks at her and it hits him with a dull throb, "This is why I'm alive," he realizes, "the only reason I haven't thrown myself off a building." And before she can say anything else, whether it's another apology or a joke or anything, he says,
"Bobby. My name is Bobby."
She smiles and kisses him softly on the forehead. They pull their clothes back on and sneak back into the living room. They fall asleep in the same sleeping bag, not caring if the others give them strange looks in the morning.
AN - This is unbeta-ed as well as my first fanfiction, so please be kind. Anyone who desires to edit this or leave critique is welcome. The quote, for the record, is an approximation of a line found in The New Testament of the Christian Bible. An exact version would look something like, "But Jesus said to them, 'Only in his hometown and in his own house is a prophet without honor.'" Matthew 13:57. I felt like it would be something Colombus would randomly remember from his education, even if it doesn't necessarily have anything to do with his situation. It's use here was not meant to be religiously symbolic in any way, so please do not take offense.